


Intaglio

by merrythoughts



Series: (Drabbles) Your Eyes Say So Much To Me [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Hannibal, Drabble, Established Relationship, Introspection, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Top Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 10:12:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11757657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrythoughts/pseuds/merrythoughts
Summary: Hannibal struggles to stay quiet and it’s a struggle Will likes to endlessly complicate.[Standalone/drabble. Written for Bottom Hannibal Day 2017!]





	Intaglio

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dapperscript](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dapperscript/gifts).



> °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖° For Bottom Hannibal Day!
> 
> Lil drabble dedicated to my Hanniguru/writing-partner who slowly made me a trashfan of bottom!Hannibal... ♥  
> Can be read as a standalone, ~~BUT WHY NOT READ OUR AWESOME LONG ASS STORY AFTER??~~  
>  As always, a heartfelt thankyou to[ TempestandTeacup](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TempestandTeacup/pseuds/TempestandTeacup) for helping me with the French!

 

 

> **Intaglio** (/ɪnˈtæli.oʊ/ in-TAL-ee-oh; Italian: [inˈtaʎʎo]) is the family of printing and printmaking techniques in which the image is incised into a surface and the incised line or sunken area holds the ink

[Source](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Intaglio_\(printmaking\))

When he fucks Hannibal, Will thinks about all Hannibal has done _to_ him. There’s of course the hurt and betrayal, the manipulation, the mistakes and missteps -- but it’s not only Hannibal who is guilty of such crimes. Too many ‘Even Steven’ moments exist between them (or is it just the right amount?). Sometimes Will slams into Hannibal roughly, groaning as skin slaps against skin, sounding both perverse and perfect. Will wants to leave his mark here too -- a lasting ache that Hannibal will feel the next day when he moves a certain way or sits down. Hannibal never protests or complains about such things. Sometimes Will simply wants to fuck Hannibal up, to have sandy hair askew, to have him slick with sweat and stumbling over his words. There’s a hunger in Will Graham, a desire to consume and possess, and Hannibal is open to him in every way -- a willing participant. Will’s encouraged, given permission and he _takes_ what is offered to him like a starving man.

(He would eat every crumb from Hannibal’s palm and suck every drop of wine from elegant fingers.)

Will’s hands hold Hannibal’s hips tight enough to leave bruises as he snaps his hips back and then drives forward. Hannibal winces slightly at the force, but does not voice any protest. Suddenly the distance between them feels like too much. Will stops, his cock buried deep within Hannibal, and he leans over, hands finding slightly sweaty hair and pulling a little.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he instructs while nuzzling at Hannibal’s cheek. Affection is important for Hannibal, although the man rarely asks for it.

“Yes, Will,” Hannibal breathes out and obeys. They’re brought closer yet, Will folded over Hannibal, their chests pressing together and Hannibal’s legs locked around him. The position doesn’t allow Will to get much momentum in his thrusts, but he simply grinds in deeper. Hannibal struggles to stay quiet and it’s a struggle Will likes to endlessly complicate. He sucks on Hannibal’s ear lobe and rocks into the tight clench of Hannibal’s body.

“Je veux… je veux me graver sur ta peau,” Will grits out -- at least he thinks he vocalizes it, but it might be just in his head. ( _I want to engrave myself on your skin._ ) Earlier he’d been thinking about the French translation of the thought. Maybe he likes trying to impress Hannibal with the French, but he tells himself that it’s simply because it sounds _better_.

He thinks Hannibal would let him do it too. Will could take a burin - the tool used for engraving - and incise lines into Hannibal’s skin, deep gouges to hold more ink. Line after line, he would create an image, an engravement that portrays his claim and, when done, Will’s tongue would map out the imprint.  

 

* * *

 

When he fucks Hannibal, Will thinks about all Hannibal has done _for_ him. In the beginning, Hannibal had taken his hand, insisted that it was safe to open doors and explore the darker rooms of his mind. Hannibal awakened what laid dormant and muzzled in those very places. Hannibal let him live despite the danger Will’s presence and knowledge held. Hannibal went to his knees before Jack Crawford, the notorious Chesapeake Ripper _surrendering_. Hannibal waited for him, sent him letters that went unanswered for years. Facing their shared adversary, Hannibal helped him defeat the Dragon and, for a brief moment, they were merely two men delighting in a shared savagery. Although, after their kill, Will wished them to succumb to a watery grave together, Hannibal had pulled him from the temperamental ocean. Hannibal had ensured their safety and wounds had been tended to. In their new life, Will had been allowed the time to sit and work through all of his uncertainty and anger while Hannibal remained close and watchful. Hannibal bled out his nativity, judgment and self-loathing gradually fading away. But now that Will’s truly chosen Hannibal - his mate - they both can be stained in brilliant red (a red that looks black in the moonlight).

So sometimes, Will pushes into Hannibal and meets his eyes. They hold hands, their fingers interlocked. He fucks Hannibal slowly with deep thrusts that leave him shaking from holding himself back. Will doesn’t say _it_ , but Hannibal knows. (Will loves Hannibal and Hannibal _knows,_ he fucking _knows_ , but unlike Will, he will never ask to hear it.) Sometimes it’s less like fucking, and more like lovemaking really. Will squeezes Hannibal’s hands. His rolls his hips, his eyes wide as he pants from the exertion. Naked and with the day’s light streaming in from the window, scars and expressions are visible. The intimacy is staggering and even now, months after the fall, Will feels a bit like hiding. He resists and tries his best to remain open and present for Hannibal. Their eyes stay connected and Will’s heart pounds in his chest as he gazes down at Hannibal -- Hannibal with his legs spread open and taking him deep within.

It still seems funny that Will had believed _he’d_ be the one getting fucked first, that a man like Hannibal would never allow such a thing, but Will had been wrong.

Will wants to say, ‘ _tu m'as rendu plus fort’_ but he bites his bottom lip and the words seem stuck in his throat. _(You made me stronger.)_

 

* * *

 

Sweaty and exhausted, Hannibal curls around Will, an arm draped over him. Pulses drop, sweat dries and the silence apart from their slowing breaths is a comfortable one.

Hannibal is protean, versatile and able to change when needed, but whatever shape Hannibal may take, it’s a shape that allows for Will’s jagged edges and they still _fit._

The words ‘je t’aime’ repeat in Will’s mind, but nothing comes out. Will breathes in evenly, his chest expanding and lifting Hannibal’s arm slightly before collapsing. The room smells like sex and _them,_ but it’s home. He’s found his home in and with Hannibal.

(Je’taime, je’taime, je’taime. One day Will is going to utter these words to Hannibal. He’ll whisper them in Hannibal’s ear and repeat them until Hannibal kisses him quiet.)

For now, they’re two men who rest with each other on a messy bed in a home that they’ve made their own.


End file.
